





HARD LABOR 

AND 

OTHER POEMS 

BY 

JOHN GARTER 








Book ^ A 'nS s.H^ 



Copyright}]" 



^fi/ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSrr 



HARD LABOR AND OTHER POEMS 



HARD LABOR 

AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 

JOHN CARTER 




NEW YORK 

THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY 

1911 






Copyright, 1911, by 
The Baker & Taylor Company 



THE 'PLIMPTON -PRESS 

[W • D -O] 
NORWOOD 'MASS^U'S 'A 



©0I.A297971 



TO 
ONE THAT TURNED NOT 



THE AUTHOR EXPRESSES HIS AC- 
KNOWLEDGMENTS TO THE PUBLISHERS 
OF THE CENTURY MAGAZINE, HARPER's 
WEEKLY, THE BELLMAN, THE SMART SET, 
COSMOPOLITAN MAGAZINE, AND LIPPIN- 
COTTS' MAGAZINE FOR THEIR COURTESY 
IN GRANTING HIM PERMISSION TO IN- 
CLUDE IN THIS VOLUME POEMS WHICH 
FIRST APPEARED IN THEIR PAGES. 



CONTENTS 

UNDER THE LASH 

PAGE 

Hard Labor 3 

Con Sordini 11 

Ballade of Misery and Iron 15 

Ballade of Twilight and Silence .... 17 

Lux E Tenebris 19 

Prison Song 23 

Prison Sonnet 25 

LSTTROIT 27 

Out of the Depths 29 

A Vision of Release . 31 

Shelley 35 

A Septime of Despair 39 

A Rose in the Wilderness 41 

Prison Serenade 43 

To Love Unchanging 45 

As I Leap Forth 47 

IN THE GREATER PRISON 

The Tramp's Tale 51 

The Poet from His Garret 57 

Despair in London 59 

[vii] 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

New York Night 63 

The Death of the Firstborn 65 

Beyond 67 

A Song for Your Birthday 69 

Sunset on the Dorset Coast 71 

Belief 73 

Freedom 75 



[ viii ] 



HARD LABOR 



HARD LABOR 



I WORK, and as the task is done I brood 
On what has been and what is yet to 

pass, 
A life spilt from an idly-handled glass. 

And days as this, an endless multitude. 

Labor and brooding — is there then no 
rest? 
Day follows day, and in the silent 

nights 
Throng ghostly memories of past de- 
lights. 
Faces I loved, and lips that I have pressed, 
[3] 



HARD LABOR 

Until the sullen, deep-toned morning bell 
Wakes me to face a yesterday again 
With all its bitter agony of pain. 

Thou didst not linger, Dante, in thy hell. 

They say the torture's gone, the dawn's 
arisen, 
Mercy, to angered hearts a suitor 

strange. 
Has begged her own; yet this they 
cannot change, 
I have been free, and I am here in prison. 



[4] 



HARD LABOR 

II 

We bear upon us different brands of 
shame, 
And some the outward insults cannot 

brook, 
The gaoler's ready oath, the scornful 
look. 
While others grieve in silence; yet the 
same 

Rebellious thoughts we share; we hate 
alike 
The grudging hand that offers us its 

dole. 
And in the deep recesses of the soul 
The eager voice, half-stifled, whispers 
" strike !'' 

A brave pretence we make of merriment. 
Cut-throats and thieves, a jolly mur- 
derous crew; 

[5] 



HARD LABOR 

"The DeviFs Own Brigade" — he 
spake most true, 
And here and there, who knows? one 
innocent. 

Nay, we are innocent all, we never stole, 
A madman has condemned us; it may 

be 
We shall go hence to-morrow, par- 
doned, free. 
Free in the body, yes. But in the soul.? 



[6] 



HARD LABOR 

III 

THOU beloved of the cloud-dark hair, 
Whose hands I clasp no more, whose 

lips I crave, 

thou who art so beautiful and brave. 
Avert thine eyes; look not on my despair. 

1 have not breathed thy name since first 

this gate 

Shut, and the wall upreared its frown- 
ing height. 

Unless some stealthy turnkey in the 
night 
Has heard a whisper, sobbing-passionate. 

Four gaunt years have I mouldered in 
this place, 
Am I not then repentant of my sin? 

1 know not, for my heart is dead 
within, 

Thou art so far — I cannot see thy face. 
[7] 



HARD LABOR 

And yet, if thou hadst died, I had re- 
turned 
To holy thoughts and long-forgotten 

prayers. 
So might thy God be cozened unawares 
To yield a moment of His heaven un- 
earned. 



[8] 



HARD LABOR 



IV 



Labor and brooding, and a shattered 
Grail, 
And at the last a few square feet of 

earth. 
What care I for your jargon of new 
birth? 
To live and strive again, again to fail? 

The deadly sin atoned, the shame forgot. 
To rise triumphant to a Love-God's 

breast 
I crave not. Mine the certainty of 
rest. 
Ruthless I lived; unpitied let me rot. 



[9] 



CON SORDINI 

There is but silence; yet in thought I 
heard 
The desperate chords of that wild 
polonaise, 
The sixth of Chopin's wizardry, but 
blurred. 
As o'er a battle-field a mournful haze 
Blots out the dying from the dead 
men's gaze. 
Why, all the pageantry of war was there. 
Cannon and standard, ruined hearth 
ablaze. 
The muffled roll of death-drum, trumpet- 
blare. 
And lonely women, mute in measureless 
despair. 

[11] 



HARD LABOR 

Nay, this is Cornwall; hear ye not Isold' 

Cry to her lover in the starlit night? 
Swiftly, thou puppet-hero, seize and hold, 
Until with blood-red fire the heaven's 

alight. 
Ah ! on the morrow, Tristan, thou shalt 
fight; 
Thou art foredoomed to loneliness and 
pain. 
Thy valiant arm, invincible for right, 
Upraised in evil, conquers not again. 
Soon in thine ear she pours full-throated 
song in vain. 

The violins are hushed; a somber chord 

Startles the dim cathedral; tremblingly 
Pure boyish voices supplicate their Lord, 
Chanting a dirge-like minor melody. 
"'In Babylon we wept, remembering 
thee, 
O Zion" • . . but they know not what 
they sing. 

[12] 



CON SORDINI 

"Out of the depths, O Lord'' ... but 
they are free. 

And through their veins the hot blood, 
rioting. 

Attunes their care-free hearts to madri- 
gals of spring. 

Ye that have tamed the wilderness of 
sound. 
Of your proud minstrelsy my share I 
claim. 
I have not, in the darkness here fast- 
bound. 
Denied the brilliance of your sacred 

flame. 
There is no power in agony or shame 
To bar me from the fire-crowned heights 
ye hold. 
In deepest silence, I may hear the same 
Unearthly music that I loved of old. 
I crave no dole, who draw from stores of 
wealth untold. 

[13] 



BALLADE OF MISERY AND IRON 

Haggard faces and trembling knees, 
Eyes that shine with a weakKng's hate. 

Lips that mutter their blasphemies. 
Murderous hearts that darkly wait: 
These are they who were men of late. 

Fit to hold a plough or a sword. 

If a prayer this wall may penetrate. 

Have pity on these my comrades. Lord ! 

Poets sing of life at the lees 

In tender verses and delicate; 
Of tears and manifold agonies — 

Little they know of what they prate. 

Out of this silence, passionate 
Sounds a deeper, a wilder chord. 

If a song be heard through the narrow 
grate. 
Have pity on these my comrades, Lord! 
[15] 



HARD LABOR 

Hark, that wail of the distant breeze, 

Piercing ever the close-barred gate, 
Fraught with torturing memories 

Of eyes that kindle and lips that mate. 

Ah, by the loved ones desolate 
Whose anguish never can pen record. 

If Thou be truly compassionate. 
Have pity on these my comrades. Lord ! 

L'Envoi 
These are pawns that the hand of Fate 
Careless sweeps from the checker- 
board. 
Thou that know'st if the game be straight. 
Have pity on these my comrades. 
Lord! 



[16] 



BALLADE OF TWILIGHT AND 
SILENCE 

Rumble and whir of dray and car, 

Thousand feet on the great highway, 
Torturing chords that throb and jar, 

A restless melody, wildly gay. 

Under the lilt o' the tune they play, 
The silent grief of the city lies, 

And menacing-swift, at close of day. 
The shadows fall and the music dies. 

Deep in the virgin woods afar, 

A thrush pours forth his soul to the 
May, 
And never a hurried note shall mar 
The ecstasy of the magic lay. 
In drowsy measure the branches sway 
Till the sun burns low in the cloudless 
skies, 

[17] 



HARD LABOR 

And peacefully upon leaf and spray 
The shadows fall, and the music dies. 

Out of the dark where no songs are, 

I that have sinned and gone astray. 
Moth-like, lift mine eyes to a star, 

Voicelessly to a far God pray. 

See, from His heav'n in bright array 
A messenger to the dim cell flies ! 

The echoes wake to his singing — nay. 
The shadows fall and the music dies. 

L'Envoi 
O beloved, I know as they. 

This is the one thirfg right and wise. 
Weep no longer, now and for aye 

The shadows fall and the music dies. 



[18] 



LUX E TENEBRIS 

At the day's end your lamp is lit, 
And I that wander am glad of it. 
I may not sip of the glowing fire 
That burns in your eyes, O Heart's 

Desire. 
But out of the lantern's steadfast gleam 
In utmost dark I weave me a dream. 

The line forms sullenly; there is no 
sound, 
Save a sharp voice that rasps its "For- 
ward march!" 
The shuffling feet creep onward through 
the arch; 
Locks clatter; and in weariness profound 
Most sink unconscious to a dreamless 
sleep, 

[19] 



HARD LABOR 

While some few through the night long 
vigil keep. 

With the sunrise your voice lifts clear, 
And I that wander afar may hear. 
Vainly harps the wind in the trees 
That ever the song accompanies. 
But out of the harmony incomplete 
I weave an anthem of praise, my sweet. 

Ah, we that knew the better from the 
worse 
Our deeper guilt must pay a thousand- 
fold. 
In mourning garb come those we loved 
of old 

And some weep silently; but others curse. 

"Ye filled the cup; why should ye not 
then drink?" 

The words are just; our whipped souls 
can but shrink. 

[20] 



LUX E TENEBRIS 

But the lamp's alight, and the clear, 

proud song 
Shall reach to the throne of God ere long. 
The night must pass, and a strange, new 

dawn 
Burst upon field and copse and lawn; 
For out of the warp of shame and tears 
I weave the joy of the coming years. 



[21] 



PRISON SONG 

Thou that hast cherished me, 
Thou of my starvehng Ufe the nobler 

part, 
From the shamed sorrow of thy Calvary 
Look up, dear heart! 

Dark is the silent night. 
Yet do I hear the restless winds afar; 
Lo in the east the somber heaven's aUght, 
Shines forth a star. 

Eagerly I crave life. 
Scorning the thousand shadows that 

assail. 
Thou hast so armed me for the utmost 
strife, 

I dare not fail. 

[23] 



PRISON SONNET 

I DREAMED the woman who is all my care 
Had stretched her arms to me; a 

weakling's tear 
Dropped to my cheek unbidden; near, 
so near 
She seemed, I strove to touch in my de- 
spair 
The empress' coronal of night-hued hair. 
But anguish graven on her face I read. 
And in a sudden agony of dread 
I forced my lips to unaccustomed prayer: 

''If Thou art God, despite my unbehef, 
Guard her who hath not sinned against 
Thy word. 
Who hath not mocked Thee in her deep- 
est grief; 

[25] 



HARD LABOR 

So shall my mouth revile no more, O 

Lord!" 
Sleep veiled from me the splendor of her 

eyes. 
Who knows if it be thus that He replies? 



[26] 



INTROIT 

The very blind 
A noble heritage of song may seize, 
A broad domain, wherein the uncon- 
quered mind 

May rest at ease. 

And we who dwell 
Within the shadow that the glad world 

easts. 
Against our tyranny of shame rebel 

While music lasts. 

Life hath no chain 
Beyond the power of joyous song to 

break. 
Hark! in the mystery of the pure strain 

God is awake. 

[27] 



OUT OF THE DEPTHS 

Beaten, blinded and maimed. 

Stabbed with a twist of the knife, 

Broken, branded and shamed — 
Some of us call it life. 

Maybe you call it life, 

Torn from all you held dear. 

Out in the light your wife. 

And you in the dark, you here. 

Ruled by a wave of the hand. 
Watched and bolted and barred; 

Maybe it's God's command. 
Some of us call it hard. 



[29] 



A VISION OF RELEASE 

What rarest hues enrich the dingy street! 

What unimagined harmonies arise! 
And every beggar-maiden that I meet 
Is fit to grace a throne in Paradise. 
Ah, such a greeting laughs from hps 
and eyes, 
It seems the sternest anchorite would 
hear 
The swelling note of joy that underlies 
This chord of fellowship; clear and more 

clear 
The quivering strings resound in hearts 
that know not fear. 

Yet is the city wearisome; I pass 

Beyond its gates to where the sunlight 
falls 
In noon-day brilliancy on the cool grass, 
[31] 



HARD LABOR 

And from his hidden nest a bluebird 

calls. 
Comrades of yesterday, within your 
walls 
Ye faint beneath your load of misery. 
Here am I spouse of Nature, in whose 
halls 
I rule a revel, turbulently free. 
The pensive river smiles; the hills laugh 
back at me. 

Hour upon hour I drink my fill of this. 
Deep-sunk in ecstasy; till twilight 
creeps 
Over the landscape; and the night-winds 
kiss 
The trembling poplar; and the shy 

moon peeps 
From the dark chamber where her 
master sleeps. 
Poor, starved folk that have escaped the 
chain, 

[32] 



A VISION OF RELEASE 

Ye know not how the enfranchised 

spirit leaps 
To greet the wanderer, fair Night, 

again 
Whose loveHness outlasts infinities of pain. 

Night, and the surge and sweep of new 
desire 
That blots to nothingness the written 
line. 
At last my eager footsteps may aspire 
To where sirocco mates with Apennine. 
Proud Rome and dark Byzantium are 
mine 
And she who queens it o'er the 
Cyclades. 
Mohammed calls me to his ancient 
shrine, 
Egypt unveils her deepest mysteries. 
Of rose and nightingale murmurs a Per- 
sian breeze. 

[33] 



HARD LABOR 

The wind-song fails; closed are the 
temple-gates; 
The revelry is hushed, the vision spent. 
Reluctantly the lingering mind awaits 
New dawn and old, unchanging dis- 
content. 
"Are they indeed so spotless-innocent 
Who draw away from me their gar- 
ments' hem.? 
If I be slave of slaves, what punish- 
ment 
Shall an almighty God reserve for 

them.?" 
So in my waking thought I judge, and I 
condemn. 



[34] 



SHELLEY 

We talked of Shelley far into the night 
Till the proud stars, his playmates, 
jealously 
Looked down upon your eyes that, daz- 
zling-bright, 
Would rob their lover of his loyalty. 
I pray, if the Most High may grant 
one plea, 
A fragment of that ecstasy to keep. 
The actual, breathing moments may 
not be. 
Yet a rewarding harvest may I reap; 
There is no drought can parch the 
shadow-field of sleep. 

We cherished most the tender, bird-like 
songs; 

[35] 



HARD LABOR 

Not ours to measure doomed Pro- 
metheus' woe. 
Nor that sad maniac's, who bore his 
wrongs 
To Hstening JuHan and Maddalo. 
Spring wakened love in us; we could 
not know 
The sordid question the long w^inter 
brought, 
TMiether to make of misery a show. 
Of shame a merchandise, or as we ought 
To bear grief silently, the master-work 
un wrought. 

As Shelley wrote in heart's blood, even so 
Unnumbered threnodies my pen in- 
dites, 
Of faithful love dishonored long ago. 
And dark remorse that fills the age- 
long nights. 
This, at the least, a world of pain re- 
quites; 

[36] 



SHELLEY 

Though on my pilgrimage no sun may 

shine, 
I follow not the lure of wand'ring lights, 
But till, Samaritan, your hand clasps 

mine, 
I stagger feebly on to the far-distant 

shrine. 



[37] 



A SEPTIME OF DESPAIR 

How weary are the hours! 

The long, long years how slow! 
Time, palsied, scarce devours 

The minutes as they go. 
My cringing spirit cowers 

Before unworshipped powers. 
Lord! Must these things be so? 

How weary are the hours ! 

The long, long years how slow ! 
I mock your tales of towers, 

Of heroes long ago. 
Spring scatters down her showers, 

I reck not of her flowers. 
Lord! Must these things be so.?^ 

How weary are the hours! 

The long, long years how slow! 
[39] 



HARD LABOR 

For, though the dark sky lowers 
Above our shame, we know 

That there be magic bowers 
That jessamine endowers. 

Lord! Must these things be so? 

How weary are the hours ! 

The long, long years how slow ! 



[40] 



A ROSE IN THE WILDERNESS 

They have spilt the wine, they have 
shattered the cup, 
They have prisoned me. 
The songs that I sang are scarce stored up 

In memory. 
But hither, where naught but henbane 

grows, 
God has sent me a wild, red rose 
And my heart is free. 

Your love came light as a breeze in May, 

As a raindrop's patter, 
A chance word dropped in an artless way 

In random chatter. 
But the love that came so light, my dear. 
Has made of this grim old prison here 

A little matter. 

[41] 



HARD LABOR 

Parley not with haggard Despair 

In the lonely nights; 
Let him not shroud the distant flare 

Of the beacon-lights. 
A few scant years of shamed defeat, 
Then with your arms about me, sweet, 

Then — to the heights ! 



[42] 



PRISON SERENADE 

This is the outer darkness, 

Hither shines never a ray. 
Souls are deadened and damned, 

Lips have forgotten to pray. 
Out of the silent shadows 

Comes the sound of a lute. 
And, is it sobbing or singing? 

Close the mouth of the brute. 

'"Eyes, blue eyes, and hair of gold, 
Are they yet as they were of old? 

And lips so red? 

Softly tread 
Over the ashes; love is dead." 

This is the realm of silence, 
Speech is not, but cries, 
[43] 



HARD LABOR 

Strange and dark and terrible, 

Out of the stillness rise. 
Cries, and hark ! that whisper, 

Is it speech or a blur? 
"Have not pity on me, O Lord, 

Lord! Have pity on her!'' 

"Quit ye like men,'' they tell us, 

"Whine, nor quarrel, nor faint; 
So, our brothers in heaven. 

Ye shall be free of taint." 
And in the silent shadows 

Quivers the lute's soft chord. 
And ever mumbles the crime-scarred, 

"Pity not me, O Lord!" 



[44] 



TO LOVE UNCHANGING 

They do no evil to imprison me. 

Else might I not this faithfulness revere 
Of love that keeps no count of day nor 
year. 
Else might I not drink deep this ecstasy. 
The lifting of the cloud when I am free 
May light a life new-born, but in her 

eyes 
Who blessed the beauty of the darkened 
skies 
No more beloved, nor worthier can I be. 

What wonder that I proudly hold my 
head. 
Or that I bear with ease my little frets? 
Such memories as these are not regrets, 
[45] 



HARD LABOR 

They are the ladder's rungs that I must 

tread. 
In one pure realm, fair as the maiden 

spring, 
No malefactor am I, but a King. 



[46] 



AS I LEAP FORTH 

As I leap forth 
Into a strange, kind world, a moment halt 
My footsteps; and the chance which 

makes my worth 
I weigh with that mischance they call my 
fault. 

This joy that springs 
From the dank swamp of hideous misery 
I am not worthy; but the gay thrush 

sings 
Triumphant, and the sun smiles down on 

me. 

Unreal it seems, 
Half ecstasy, half weariness and pain; 
For so I fear this haven of my dreams 
Shall vanish, and the storm come back 
again. 

[47] 



HARD LABOR 

Past, it is past. 

Before the sweep of dawn the shadows 
flee. 

I, from the heart of Hfe long since out- 
cast, 

Return, in body as in spirit, free. 



[48] 



IN THE GREATER PRISON 



THE TRAMP'S TALE 

It's a desolate world to-night, 
Cold and leafless and murky white. 
The drunken moon adrift in the sky- 
Hides and emerges fitfully. 
The wind to a whining prayer is bent, 
A mendicant's prayer, impenitent. 

Dirty and torn to a rag. 

My coat is the thing I am, 

A thing for a decent man to damn. 

My feet that lag 

On the twisting tracks have burst 

Through to the knife-keen air; and 

thirst 
Wrings and maddens the soul of me. 
[51] 



HARD LABOR 

Free, I said, free! 
From the eternal monotony of the old 

time, 
The feeble slaving for a fool's reward. 
The cant of folk ^'for ever with the Lord,'' 
Whose solemn-folded hands are steeped 

in slime. 

Free too from those 
Whose clinging lips suck out between 

their kisses 
The souls of men, who shower a thousand 

woes 
For every of their petty, doled out bhsses. 
And at the last 
Laugh at the starveling from their arms 

outcast. 

So I felt as I drifted 

Forth to the road, and I lifted 

My voice in a measured song: 

[52] 



THE TRAMP'S TALE 

"I heard in the dusty town 
The call of the wanton June, 
And straight over dale and down 
I followed the breathless tune, 
Till, past man's farthest abode. 
In a region of drought and dearth, 
I sought, by a winding road, 
The utmost ends of the earth. 

'^And soon, in the desert places 

Beyond the horizon's rim. 

The eager, sorrowful faces 

Of those I had loved grew dim. 

But the sun and the careless breeze 

For the old griefs offered amends, 

And the olden melodies 

I sang to the stars, my friends. 

"Yet Night, as a magic cup 
Commingled of wine and tears, 
Hath memories treasured up 
Of those our radiant years; 
[53] 



HARD LABOR 

And, deep as the grave that Hes 
Between you and my defeat. 
The mystery of your eyes 
I have not forgotten, sweet." 

Truly a notable song, and quite sincere 

As far as it went; 

Only they made the truth appear 

Awkward and different. 

A charming tale of a girl is the one they 

tell. 
Of a babe new-born, 
Left lonely to face the hell 
Of the world's scorn. 

Free, I said, free! 
And fate comes behind and scourges me. 
Till I fling scarred hands to the sky, and 

curse 
The God that made me a something worse 
Than His meanest brutes, and for all my 
pains 

[54] 



THE TRAMP'S TALE 

Loads and galls me with thoughts for 

chains. 
Black thoughts I am doomed for ever to 

think — 

Ah . . . give me drink. 



[55] 



THE POET FROM HIS GARRET 

Arrogantly, 
Above the dazzling^ city, darkness-zoned, 
I look down on the fools that scoff at me, 

As one enthroned. 

Sadly the street 
Its never-ending monotone uplifts. 
Across the silent heavens, f earing-fleet. 

The pale moon drifts. 

Long, long ago 
A maiden watched from every storied 

tower. 
And to the meanest churl that sighed 
below 

Might cast a flower. 



[57] 



HARD LABOR 

Canst thou not see 
My deep-red rose that lies beneath the 

lamp? 
Nay, o'er the luckless petals, wantonly 
A thousand tramp. 



[58] 



DESPAIR IN LONDON 

It was but yesterday that London seemed 

The gateway to a kingdom of romance. 

Upbuilt with mansions where no harm 

might chance 

The wanderer, of whose vast halls I 

dreamed 
Myself a conqueror. I little deemed 
That in the happiness of thy bright 

glance 
Lay all my triumph, all the radiance 
That on my pilgrimage a moment 

gleamed. 
To-day is sorrow's, and the dull streets 
moan 
In sombre answer to my stifled cry. 
But hearing not, the stranger-souls 
throng by, 

[59] 



HARD LABOR 

Each with his separate burden, forward 

faced 
To some dim goal, whence with relentless 

haste 
Again to-morrow he shall pass, unknown. 

Six barren years of shame, and at the 
last 
An ecstacy beyond my power to sing 
Of love supernal, re-awakening 
Within my soul dim creeds long since out- 
cast. 
What matter? They are vanished, over- 
past. 
The raptured moments of our golden 

spring, 
And twicefold grief is ours, remember- 
ing 
Their fulness through the dreary winter- 
fast. 
O laughter-laden Muse, I weave no 
more 

[60] 



DESPAIR IN LONDON 

Gay crowns of hyacinth for thy fair 
head, 

The madrigal is still, to darkness sped 
The lawless torch of fantasy, whose light. 
Flaunted so lately in the face of Night, 

No ministry of labor may restore. 

O sov'ran city, 'neath whose ancient sway 
Gigantic empire-forces strive and 

strain, 
Hear'st thou, amid the tumult of thy 
pain. 
The piping dirge-note of the tune I play. 
Ah no, the harsh, inexorable gray 

Of tower and tenement I search in vain, 

No laurel-garland weave I, but a chain 

Whose galling links shall fetter me for 

aye. 
So that unshaken trust on which I 
lean. 
And all our memories, shall be as 
nought. 

[61] 



HARD LABOR 

No cross shall mark the battle that we 
fought, 
No song commemorate the hours of gold, 
Only the sluggish river shall enfold 

Once more to its embrace a thing 
obscene. 



[62] 



NEW YORK NIGHT 

A SUMMER day grows old, 
And a moment over the town 
The towers are aflame with gold. 
As the sun goes down. 

Tired workers homeward throng 
In an endless, hurrying stream, 
And folly awakes ere long 
To its hour supreme. 

At last, from square and park. 
Like a shadow, the silence creeps. 
Cafe and saloon grow dark. 
And the city sleeps. 

So, when life's tumults cease. 
May the noise of the restless fight 
Be merged in the sacred peace 
Of a summer night. 
[63] 



THE DEATH OF THE FIRSTBORN 

"Weep not, beloved; for the all-wise God, 
That takes this little life to Him 
again, 
Is yet all-kind: His weary feet have 
trod 
The road of pain." 

"He has not borne the burden of my grief, 
Else would He not have robbed me of 
my son. 
How can I say of your almighty Thief 
His will be done.?'' 

"We may not question Him; our babe 
that sleeps 
Shall not the sorrows of the world 
endure. 

[65] 



HARD LABOR 

Nay, let us think Him merciful, who 
keeps 
The lips so pure." 

"But I could minister to his despair. 
His deepest infamy I could atone. 
There is no prison that I could not share 
Save this alone.'' 

"Yet if, my sweet, another there shall be. 
Whose greedy lips shall hang upon 
your breast. 
Will you not then in new-found joy 
agree 
God's way is best.?" 

"There is no other that can take his place. 
Peace there may be; but this shall 
not depart; 
Now and for ever is my baby's face 
Graved on my heart." 



[66] 



BEYOND 

Is it as that one said, 
Who saw between our frank, desiring eyes 
Veil upon veil beside our power to tear? 
Are we then prisoners, who may not share 
Our servitude, until the body lies 
In its last bed? 

Nay, even at the end 

He said we should not know, but dream- 

lessly 
Wait for a nothingness, till, blotted out 
From this wild book wherein we read 

but doubt. 
Our very memories shall cease to be, 
And cease to blend. 

Why does he speak of rest? 

As those storm-driven ones whom Dante 

hailed 
Amid the depths, better it were to toss 
[67] 



HARD LABOR 

Hither and thither, shouldering a cross, 
Until our clasped arms have flagged and 
failed, 
Your lips have pressed 

Mine without agony. 

And heart has called no more to answ'ring 

heart. 
Ah, we are slaves, entangled by a lure 
Of fate, and bound together to endure 
The eternal fool's-parade of hfe and art 
Unchangingly. 

I will not have it so, 

There is no veil shall hide your soul from 

mine. 
From star to star, onward and upward 

borne; 
We shall but laugh death's menaces to 

scorn. 
Seeking at last what else may be divine, 
Save that we know. 

[68] 



A SONG FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY 

Light words spring from thy lips, 

As I listen and dream, 
Like the rustle of fairy ships 

On a fairy stream. 

Proud looks flash from thine eyes. 

So proud, my sweet. 
The shadow of evil lies 

Dead at thy feet. 

Thy soul is a sheltered close. 

In whose twilight deeps 
Full many a wild wood-rose 

Blossoms and sleeps. 

Beloved, through whom I guess 

At a light divine. 
Passionate, measureless. 
Thy heart is mine. 
[69] 



SUNSET ON THE DORSET 
COAST 

A FINE rain drips on the sluggish sea 

And the barren down. 
The mist enshrouds with its panoply 

The dreary town. 
And far aloft in a settled gloom, 
Vast sentinels of decay and doom, 

The dull cliffs frown. 

In a cold embrace the shadows fall 

On the ocean's breast. 
Bitter the pain of the gulFs harsh call 

Winged to its nest- 
But ere the tyrannous hand of Night 
Can grasp Day's sceptre, a sudden light 

Startles the west. 

[71] 



HARD LABOR 

The storm-clouds quiver and gleam and 
flare, 

As the dying sun 
With gold and crimson, radiant-rare, 

Tints one by one; 
And clear to the ocean's farthest line, 
A web of fire as gossamer fine 

The Master has spun. 

Slowly the splendor wanes and dies, 

While the dark cHffs stand 
As naked truth a mirage of lies 

Born to command; 
Till the moon in elfin ecstasy 
Tips with a glamor of faery 

The desolate strand. 



[72] 



BELIEF 

There is a God above the tenement 
Who knows its misery, but gives no 

sign; 
A holy Spirit, puissant, divine, 
Yet is the sword sheathed and the gold 

unspent. 
I, that would be with little gods content, 
I, that have worshipped at a mortal 
shrine. 
Under such weight of mystery am bent. 
Nor may belief nor faith in Him be 
mine. 

O friend, it is not granted me to trust 
In One all-powerful, but this I know: 

Our souls that 'mid this sea of life and lust 
Are derelicts the winds toss to and fro. 

Beyond the confines of the charted seas 

In a fair anchorage might ride at ease. 
[73] 



FREEDOM 

I 

I WILL go back to those for whom I cried, 
Outcasts and thieves and slayers of 

their kind, 
I will go back with a contented mind, 
For there, in bondage, may rich truth 

abide. 
There, at the least, is hate not deified, 
And those I welcomed as my friends 

were free 
Of that inexpiable infamy 
By whose dread weight overburdened, 
Ferrer died. 

No need have I of joy, no fear of pain, 
There, in the stillness, none may chain 
my thought. 

[75] 



HARD LABOR 

Your trivial liberty, so dearly bought. 
Freely and gladly I give back again. 
I pray you, comrades, open wide your 

gate. 
Nay, pity not, I was with you of late. 



[76] 



FREEDOM 

II 

Into the gray world whither I return 
Few wander who may voice its mys- 
tery. 
One jester-priest there was, who curi- 
ously 
Strove the calm face of Sorrow to dis- 
cern, 
Dropping her tears upon the gruesome 
urn. 
He knew, who sang of Reading, all that 

lies 
Behind the watchful penetrative eyes 
Of these my friends, save that he could 

not learn; 
For, as bare hillsides through an evening 
mist 
Are robed in dreams, so that firm- 
bolted grate. 
Through which he could but gaze dis- 
consolate, 

[77] 



HARD LABOR 

Seems but a lattice where Delight keeps 

tryst, 
And they whose sins ye think beyond all 

cure 
To me are holy, in that they endure. 



[78] 



FREEDOM 

III 

Ah no, I may not seek, beloved, there 
My haven; lest thine arms around me 

twine 
No longer, and thy lips, that breathe 
on mine 
Triumphantly, pale to a swift despair. 
The cross that I have given thee to bear 
Presses too hard, it must not crush 

thee, sweet, 
And this last hour of sorrowful defeat 
Must be forgotten in the joys we share. 
So much is won, we may not lose the rest; 
So much is known, we may not start 

nor shrink; 
If there be poison in the cup we drink 
Together, surely is it not unblest. 
And though to the great silence we depart 
I shall be prisoner within thy heart. 

179] 



NOV 11 ISIi 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



NOV 



jg \9\\ 



